


Musarna

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Archaeology, Feelings, Gift Giving, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: During a slow afternoon at the dig, archaelogist Arthur Pendragon takes a break to give Merlin one special object.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101





	Musarna

Macchia del Conte, Italy 1928

Arthur walks towards him limned in sunlight, dressed in field trousers tucked in his boots and a white shirt many of whose buttons have left been left undone, thus looking more like the sun god than any statue they've ever excavated at Musarna ever since the first farmer stumbled upon an Etruscan artefact one fine morning in the nineteenth century. Behind him the corn fields glow in the early afternoon's glare, green and yellow stalks shifting with the breeze, the earth dry and compact with the draught of summer. Arthur's moving towards the contemporary farm of Macchia del Conte, a system of modern buildings and outbuildings meant to get the most out of the territory thanks to the new agricultural techniques Mussolini is pushing all over Italy and seems so proud of. (After all aren't these Fascists all about industry, power, and machismo, even when applied to millennia old activities farming hands have been at since the dawn of time?)

The Macchia farmers don't care about the big wigs in Rome. Some of them are hostile to them (which Merlin thanks God for), others merely sullenly accepting. That doesn't mean they appreciate the archaeologists excavating the area they're tending, these young French and Englishmen they are wary of but can't drive away. 

In fact, as Arthur stalks towards Merlin, most of them bend their heads and dig at the soil, studiously avoiding the Brit and ignoring his presence, their spades digging into the hard ground and raising handfuls of dusts. A few glare at him, a reminder of foreign presence on Italian shores at a time when being Italian has taken on an almost mythical quality according to the authoritarian nationalism promoted in the capital. These farmers have after all been fed government propaganda, and though many don't trust it anymore than they trust this leader of theirs, they equally look down upon these strangers who've come to dig for heirlooms belonging to ages gone out of mind. 

Almost by happenstance archaeologists have uncovered Etruscan burial grounds, the Roman edifices of the latter's conquerors, and even Byzantine bronzes, but the farmers don't care about this. It's just ancient bones and they won't put food on their tables. The rhythms of the land are in that way unchangeable and not to be disturbed in the name of any science.

Arthur, for his part, smiles at them, neither ingratiating nor smug. At first, his tenure at the dig didn't begin easily. When he was fresh off Cambridge, he was prone to flouting his British superiority over these rough, uncouth sons of the soil. And while a lot of his dislike was based on a fervent loathing for the Duce, it wasn't entirely about that either, for what he couldn't put up with was the farmers' mistrustful attitude, their failure to accept his laboriously acquired wisdom. But ever since they'd become closer and Merlin, a socialist if ever there was one, had pointed out that his British exceptionalism wouldn't solve matters, ease tensions nor oust Mussolini without a war, Arthur has changed his manners. 

Now he treats the farmers with more respect, and the younger ones, Merlin's friends among them, are starting to like him in return. And Arthur – Merlin can tell – is enjoying that and the hearts to hearts they are having together too. And though Merlin likes to argue with Arthur and give him a few eye openers, he's come to relish the time spent alone with Arthur at the old bar in town, when they share a jug of redolent country wine and discuss their common love for history and their fundamental belief in freedom and loathing for dictatorships. And Arthur has taught him a lot too, about not pre-judging people who don't come from the same side of the fence, about being fair to everyone whatever their life story. 

But their common passion has certainly united them.

They might have come at archaeology in different ways, Arthur through Cambridge and Merlin by way of an amateur uncle who'd taught him everything he knows, but they have the same basic interests and love of history, and though Merlin ought to have disliked Arthur's upper class mannerisms, he finds he doesn't. On the contrary, he finds much that's to his liking. So much so that he's almost afraid because a lot is at stake here.

Now Arthur sits next to him under the big plane tree in the pool of shadow Merlin has chosen as shield from the sun.

He rests both arms on his knees and screws his eyes half-shut as he stares at the terse blue sky. He has nudged so close, Merlin can feel the warmth of him seep through to him by dint of vicinity, and though it's so hot his shirt is sticking to him like second skin, and though people might talk, he neither complains nor moves. If only he could have dared, he'd have shifted closer. But he knows this is a dangerous game to play, and politics, the views of a fanatical dictator, has nothing to do with it. When the heart is at stake, you will get burnt.

By and by Merlin says, “Taking a rest from the dig?”

As Merlin expects, Arthur nods. He closes his eyes, as if he wants to get the most out of his break, but then he says, “Actually Leon could have used some more help, but I had something to do.”

“Get a cat nap?” Merlin asks, teasing even though he recognises the oddity in Arthur's tone, the tension that has come over his limbs as he reveals that he's talking about more than his lunch break. 

“No, idiot,” he says, with a fondness that belies his words and doesn't make Merlin angry at all. They might have started off at odds, and back then he would have minded the name-calling, but right now he appreciates the epithet, because it's a sign of a friendship that has its odd rules and rituals. “This is much more important than that.”

Merlin cocks an eyebrow. It's as much in the way of pulling Arthur's leg as in the urging him on to have his say. 

Arthur digs in his pocket and extracts a small object from it. Before Merlin can see what it is, he says, “Leon and I found hundreds of these in the Roman Bath area.” 

Merlin has a look at the object Arthur has just passed to him. “It's a Sulla denarius.” Even a casual glance has told Merlin as much. The effigy is unmistakable as are its size and weight. “82-81 BC.”

“A glance was all it took, eh,” Arthur says, the admiration in his tone matched by his gaze. “You know them all, spectacular. We have a hoard and all we need is for Merlin to sift through it and in an hour we'll have them all catalogued.”

“You would too.” Arthur is nothing if not thorough, Merlin knows that. He's an expert in the field, coming second to none. “You only need to live down your enthusiasm for the find.” Merlin holds the coin up against the light. It's so small, so light, and yet it speaks of history in the way few things do. The literal weight of millennia. How many hands has this changed? How many purses did it fill before it was lost at the baths? “Is that why you came looking for me? To date this find of yours? I'm sure Leon--”

“I don't need you to do that,” Arthur says without specifying why. He seems even a little piqued Merlin thought he'd come for a consult. He certainly reddens as he contemplates Merlin's interpretation of his action. “Actually--” He looks away and gulps, appearing charged with a nervous energy that radiates from his every pore. “I just wanted to give it to you.”

Trying to dissect the evidence of his own senses, Merlin thinks about it. Arthur is taking a break from his work to give him an object he'd found at the dig. Why would he do so? Why would he take this course of action? If he doesn't want his professional opinion, then this must be something personal. Merlin's heart gives a powerful double thump. Could it be? Merlin feels that they have grown closer during the expedition. Working together at unearthing the various areas of the Musarna site has brought them to a greater understanding of one another. The constant proximity over the long winter months has caused Merlin to feel close to Arthur. Sometimes it's as if he is the only confidant he has on camp. Because in spite of the acceptance he's gained among his colleagues, most of them still think of him as a graduate from a lower tier university. But Arthur has stopped doing that, he shows that he values Merlin's input, and whenever possible he asks to partner him. And now that summer has come, it's as though the two of them are a special duo.

That isn't to say the other archaeologists aren't fine. Leon is an outstanding scholar. His monographs, while not exactly exciting, are thoroughly researched, eminently solid work. Their French counterparts the École Française are also hard workers and fine academics. Merlin has had time to judge them all. 

But Arthur has the passion and the knowledge to render his contribution really special. He shares a vision with Merlin, a quest to find out the living truth of history in its every day manifestations. Like Merlin, he wants to unveil the ways of the past, throw light on its mysteries so as to be able to focus on the living breathing human beings that came before them.

And then he's handsome and kind, a man who's passionate about his field of work, who has made of duty of his calling. And Merlin appreciates all of it. if Arthur does the same and returns even a tenth of Merlin's feelings, then Merlin would call himself glad. It isn't the real extent of it, for the mere notion that Arthur enjoys his company and values his friendship brings tears to his eyes, but he won't use words he won't be able to go back on, even to himself. Because if he did, he would have to commit to the inevitability of his feelings. And there isn't anything harder. Not in this time and place.

“I don't know what to say.” Merlin's floundering and aware of the fact. “I--”

With a look full of badly restrained emotion, Arthur says, “If you won't accept--” He flattens his lips together, while in his eyes some kind of battle rages on. “I meant it as a token. As a symbol.” He lowers his gaze, focusing it on the coin, which he keeps turning round and round, feeling its edges with his fingers. “But I understand why you don't want it. I just hope we can continue the way we--”

Merlin has to stop Arthur. He can't let him go on like that, misconstrue his reaction so fully. “I'm not refusing it. I was just asking...” But Merlin can't tell Arthur why he's asking. He can't probe that far. For if he did, his own feelings would be revealed to the fullest extent. “You know...”

Arthur's expression grows serious and solemn. He speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully, as if he wanted to make sure his message will get across. “I want you to have this. I want you to keep it as a sign of my friendship.” He keeps his gaze squared on Merlin, the intensity of it capable of melting stone. “It runs deep, let me assure you. It means to me more than I can say, so I want you to have the coin. I'd love it if you could keep it with you.” He licks his lips, as if to take time to collect his thoughts. “To remind you of me and the esteem I have for you.”

Unable to help himself, Merlin smiles brightly. “In that case, I'll keep it. Because I feel the same.”

Arthur relaxes and even laughs, certainly relieved. “That went well then.”

“Considering we're practically looting an ancient site.” Merlin lets an answering chuckle burst from his chest.

“It's one tiny coin in a trove of several hundreds,” Arthur says, his lips tucked up in a gentle grin. “History can do without it. But I needed to make the gesture, for you to see.”

Merlin does see. He thinks he understands, that he hadn't misinterpreted Arthur, or made a mountain out of a mole hill. “I'll put it on a chain.” He shouldn't be making such a statement. He shouldn't be altering any ancient artefact. It goes against everything that he's ever learnt or stood for. But in this case he means to make an exception. “And wear it always.” As he gains a little courage, he adds, “On my heart.”

At that Arthur looks like the cat that has got the cream, but he doesn't say anything. He shifts closer and peers into the distance, his body a warm buoy for Merlin as he reflects on what this token means and how it will change his life.

It's just an old denarius, but it seems to have travelled down from the mists of time to tell him something he needed to hear and that is why he will treasure it always.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a museum visit. Musarna exists.


End file.
